


she wore a lace bra to a knife fight (and i cut it right off)

by eddiepeach



Series: i handmade my baby and all the lace she wears [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, F/F, Mommy Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, Sub Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier, Verbal Humiliation, degredation, early 20s reddie, fem / genderbent reddie, implied/referenced orgasm denial, it's i want this twink obliterated but it's this femme and her pussy, under negotiated kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eddiepeach/pseuds/eddiepeach
Summary: Eddie discovers that she's a femme (and a bottom, which she knew, but still), and that Richie's a butch (and a top, which she didn't know but had really, really hoped)(Eddie gets railed)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: i handmade my baby and all the lace she wears [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713256
Comments: 82
Kudos: 385





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> edited my usage of stud / butch after some lovelies pointed it out to me! 
> 
> very mild warnings for misunderstanding of gender, lack of understanding about trans-ness, and a little bit of self fat-shaming / insecurity

It doesn’t get bad until their first year of college. 

Boston, Massachusetts is a step-up from Derry, Maine, even if the Irish boys still use dyke like the word is a festering wound and slut like it’s the puss that oozed from it. But it’s enough of a step that Richie quickly finds the quiet queer community that hides in basements and rented ballrooms and the back rooms of clubs—and finding the queer community means immersing herself fully in its culture. When she'd first been invited to one of the hangouts, a small, cozy lounge in someone's basement suite, she'd come home to her shared apartment with Eddie and excitedly rattled off the different kinds of lesbians, waving her hands and pacing the floor before flopping down onto their overstuffed orange paisley chair, her legs swung over one arm. Eddie hadn't known that there were different kinds of lesbians. In fact, she’s almost completely sure that a lesbian was just a woman who liked other women. For a moment she thought that Richie meant women who loved women but also men but those were _bisexual_ women, a term she had learned from Richie the week before. 

"So it's all based on body type?" 

Richie's head is tilted back, angling for the last drops of whisky in her blue plastic cup, but she nods. 

"Isn't that kind of objectifying?" Eddie asks, picking at the peeling blue plastic of her own cup, half full of cheap box wine. "There's so much fucking objectification of women and lesbians in porn and just like society in general anyways that the community shouldn't perpetuate it, right? Like deciding that because one person's built one way and someone else is built another way immediately decides who they are and how they fuck is stupid."

Richie presses her cup against her flushed cheek and slaps her knee before pointing at Eddie. "Ha! But just cause a butch is a butch doesn't mean she's a top—it doesn't have anything to do with how you like getting strapped." 

"But you said butches were usually tops!" 

“Yeah, but—” Richie keeps talking, but she also stands and stretches, lifting her arms above her head and jerking her neck hard to the side until it cracks. Eddie pretends she isn’t looking at the white, mole-speckled skin of Richie lean, strong arms. She remembers when she was the stronger of the two of them, before something in Richie stretched her out like taffy, making her legs long and thin and lean and her arms strong. The only part of Eddie that’s bigger than any part of Richie's now is her ass and her boobs, but Richie doesn’t care for either and often (and loudly) proclaimed how glad she was that she has 'tiny fucking tits' and is generally shaped like a very tall, pale, iron board. 

It stings a bit, when she talks like that. Like everything, Eddie pretends it doesn’t. She pretends more than she liked to admit. 

But Richie never talks about the kind of girls that interest her, other than the occasional joke about liking pussy and jokes to and/or about Eddie that were simultaneously flirtatious, condescending, and mocking. She loudly mocks Eddie’s attraction to men, retching and gagging over dicks and wanting to be fucked by them. She doesn't know that Eddie is even less interested in dick than Richie is—she had once admitted in a game of truth or dare that sucking a dick didn’t sound awful, especially if the dick was attached to a woman. At the time, Eddie had thought she was kidding; women didn’t have dicks, so Richie being willing to suck one only while it was attached to a woman was just emphasis on her already obvious lesbianism. As Richie went to these quiet queer meetings, she told Eddie about women who were born with penises—Richie had actually used the word penis, which had made Eddie stall like her mother’s shitty old Ford—who were actually women. Cock didn’t equal maleness and pussy didn’t equal femaleness, which Eddie didn’t fully understand, but it meant a lot to Richie. 

(And Eddie wanted to know. She feigned the mild interest her tone conveyed when she asked about Richie’s meeting had gone, but there was something between her stomach and her spleen that wanted to know everything about these meetings, that wanted to learn everything about queers she could. If she ever worked up the courage to admit to her own… interest in women and then could attend one of the meetings, she wanted to be well-liked, and she didn’t want to hurt anyone or push any buttons. Calling someone a man when they were actually a woman—regardless of their penis/no penis status—seemed like a no-go). 

She stares at Richie, now in the kitchen in front of their overfull liquor cupboard, complaining about the lack of bourbon even though they have plenty of whisky and Eddie is sure it’s the same thing. Her gaze catches on Richie’s wild black hair, gathered in a bun at the back of her neck, whole strands tied in with her bandana because she never lets Eddie do it for her. Richie’s shoulders are even more distracting than her hair, surprisingly broad for such a slender woman. And she’s so thin, from cigarettes and the wild metabolism of a 22-year-old. Richie is proud of her own body, she likes being so thin and having such small tits, but Eddie always wonders if her pride in her own body means that she finds softer edges and bigger tits unattractive. Does she find the flare of Eddie's hips and the curve of her ass and boobs weird? Eddie's mom had always pointed out the pouch of skin and fat at the bottom of her stomach (which Ben told her once that the pouch held her reproductive organs and existed on every woman, even thin ones like Richie, but Eddie still stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room and held that pouch between her hands and squeezed, halting how the flesh gathered and her stretch marks seemed to grow even more purple)—does Richie notice that pouch when they went swimming? Does she look at it and think that Eddie is fat? Does she see the stretch marks over her ass and thighs and stomach that Eddie knew people could see when she swam in her bra and panties as much as she wanted to hide them and decided that when she got herself a girlfriend she would not look anything like Eddie? 

She wants so desperately for Richie to look at her and want her. She raises her cup to her mouth and knocks back the rest of the sour, bitter wine in one go, muttering a quiet, but emphatic ‘fuck’ to herself.

It's one of those nights. 

"Usually being the keyword, baby."

Eddie startles. "What?"

Richie snorts and waves her blue plastic cup. “I was going back to what we were talking about—butches are _usually_ tops, but not always.”

“What’re you?” The words fall from Eddie before she can tuck them into the back of her brain and wonder about them at night. 

“What am I what?” Richie says, squinting over her glasses at the label on their bottle of cheap whisky. “This has like a 49% alcohol, how am I not more wasted?” 

“You are wasted,” Eddie says, even though she isn’t, grateful that Richie’s brain is moving faster than her mouth could ask Eddie what she meant.

“Fuck you, I’m not!” Richie shouts, too loud in the way she got when she was tipsy. “And what did you mean, ‘what am I?’”

Fuck. 

“Nothing, it was a dumb question.” Eddie waves her hand, too casual. She winces at herself, knowing that Richie is just going to—

“Never stopped you before.” She ignores Eddie’s raised middle finger. “C’mon, what were you gonna ask?”

“I—” Eddie considers resisting, but instead she sighs, hides her face into her hands and says, “Like, what are you? According to the lesbians, or whatever.” 

“That’s a great band name!” Richie drops the whisky on the counter abruptly, and grabs a wooden spoon, holding it to her mouth like a microphone. “Well, hello New York City how are you all doing to _night_?” She’s doing a Voice, loud and broad like a big man with a microphone talking over a screaming crowd. “We’ve got a great show coming up for you tonight, so please welcome ‘The Lesbians or Whatever!” She draws out ‘whatever,’ too loud in their tiny apartment after midnight, but Eddie still rolls her eyes and pretends she isn’t smiling, disgustingly fond. 

“It’s not that great of band name. It might actually be the worst band name I've ever heard,” Eddie says, her voice a little bright with a smile. 

Richie laughs. “It’s really not, but the voice was fun.” 

“Don't get used to it, your Voices rarely are, so.” 

“Fuck off,” Richie laughs. She pours herself another cup of whisky and throws herself onto their garish orange paisley armchair, her legs slung over one of the arms. 

With her hair held back with a red bandana tied sitting low on her forehead, swinging her arms about like she'd had six whiskys instead of two, she looks an awful lot like Elizabeth Swann, only curlier and paler, in a brown and orange flannel and a White Stripes t-shirt that used to be white but looked more and more grey every time Eddie washed it. Fuck. Eddie wants to snap at her about how she’d leave stains on the already-disgusting armchair or their floors when she throws herself into the chair like that, and how Richie, not Eddie, would be the one cleaning when they finally moved somewhere larger (somewhere, Eddie fantasizes, with one large bedroom instead of two and Richie's king bed in the centre of that large bedroom), but her hands are broad-palmed and long-fingered and pale, with chipped black nail polish and heavy silver rings. Eddie's hands are small, tougher than Richie's, but also prettier, giving the illusion of them also being more delicate. 

Richie's long fingers could slip inside her wet pussy and curl up to dig into the soft skin where the pressure makes her legs shake. They could hold her wrists too, and press them together, grinding the gold chain of her friendship bracelet into her skin, leaving bruised and red marks behind. 

"Eds. Eds!" 

"Fuck, Rich, what?" 

Richie frowns at her. Eddie's eyes are caught on the full bottom lip of her wide, straight-toothed mouth as Richie chewed on it, eyebrows pulled together. 

"What's got your thong in a knot, Eds?" She sounds genuinely concerned, leaning forward in the chair. The blue plastic up half full with whisky steady and quiet in her hands, and her eyes stayed fixed on Eddie. 

“Nothing,” Eddie snaps, the tops of her cheeks and her ears flushing pink. “So, what do the lesbians think you are, other than a dumbass?” It’s a cheap shot, but Richie relaxes and smiles a bit, before leaning back in the chair, laying her arm across the back. 

“A butch.” 

Eddie frowns. “A butch?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I thought butches were like... chubby with short hair and stuff?”

Richie chuckles and sips her whisky. “Nah—I mean some of them look like that, kinda... dyke-y I guess.” After six months of listening to Richie refer to them as queers, she doesn’t flinch as hard as she used to, but the word still drags across her ribs sometimes. She can remember Henry Bowers shouting at Richie as they all ran _You’re such a fucking dyke, Tozier!._ “With queers, it’s just like any masculine lesbian, I guess. Usually tall, but I mean they can be whatever fucking height. Lots of flannels and t-shirts and big boots and shit like that. Pretty androgynous, usually tops."

Is Richie a top? 

Fuck. 

Eddie clears her throat. “So, you're a butch? Even though you're not big like that?" Even though Richie's told her she's a butch, she can't wrap her head around it.

“Well butches usually have really short hair, but there's nothing that says you can't be a butch with long flowing locks like mine. 'Sides," Richie burps, "I'm technically a soft butch, I guess, because I still wear jewelry and keep my hair long."

Eddie hums and tries not to think about Richie—tall, broad Richie—with short hair and laugh lines, softer everywhere. It sounds good, really good, not better or worse than who she is now, but good. Like someone Eddie would _still_ sink her teeth into, if she was allowed to or if Richie wanted her to, which she didn’t, but _still_. She wants. 

Eddie’s chubby—well, she isn’t, not really, because she wears a size 10 jean and has to sew up the back to sit tight at her waist while still fitting her ass and thighs, but she definitely isn’t as masculine as Richie Where does that leave her?

“What am I?”

“Well, not a lesbian, for one,” Richie says, taking another sip of her whisky, her other hand tightening on the back of of the couch. 

“What if I was?” She asks, but it’s too soft. It sounds like a hypothetical-that-isn’t-hypothetical, a comment that is only hypothetical out of fear of the other person’s response. 

Richie stares at her. For all her fumbling and the shit she says at the wrong time, she knows Eddie better than anyone, and she hears the hypothetical-that-isn’t-hypothetical. She licks her bottom lip, drawing it into her mouth to chew on it. She coughs. “You’d be, um, well you’re a femme.”

“Oh.” Eddie nods. “What does that mean?”

Richie leans forward to put her half empty cup down on the table and Eddie raises an eyebrow—Richie loves this whisky, and she rarely (read - never) leaves a cup unfinished. 

“Usually short, uh, pretty, I guess. Wears mom jeans and skirts and pretty, like, blouses and stuff. Jewelry and makeup too, maybe.” 

“So I’m a femme?” She watches Richie shirt on the armchair, who isn’t really meeting her eyes. Eddie wonders, for a split second, if under the familiarity of the two of them sitting in their living room chatting, Richie’s feeling the tension too, the tension that’s gathering at Eddie’s throat and her cunt, not quite wet but _feeling_ between her legs. 

“Yeah, of course. I mean you’re definitely not a butch.” 

“So butches are usually tops, right? So they’re in charge during sex and stuff?” 

“Sex and stuff? Ooh, spaghetti, you’re really roping in the guys talking like that, aren’t you?” Richie laughs, but the joke feels half-hearted, a distraction more than anything else, so Eddie presses it, leans into the tension. She wants it to snap. She wants Richie to snap but, fuck, she doesn’t want to have to ask for it. 

“I’m right, yeah?” 

Richie nods, the expression on her face unfamiliar. 

“So femmes are usually bottoms?” 

Against the back of the couch, Richie’s hand clenches again, digging her fingers into the ugly, worn fabric so hard Eddie that for a split second she thinks it might rip. It doesn’t, and Richie’s teeth clench as she says, “I mean, yeah. But femmes can top too.” 

Eddie can’t help it. “What do you do?” 

Richie’s hand grips the back of the couch, and her other fiddles with a loose button on her flannel. “I’m a top.” 

She knows she shouldn’t have asked. Her entire face flushes pink, and she bites hard into her lower lip. She’s spent hours thinking about Richie in bed, about her fingers and her mouth, the ways that Richie might talk to her or treat her, and all the ways she could tear Eddie apart until they were only scattered pieces leftover. 

Maybe the box wine has loosened her lips, or maybe she’s already too deep in Richie and her eyes and her long-fingered hands, but instead of nodding and moving on or making a friendly joke, doing _something_ to restore their platonic equilibrium she says, “I’m a bottom.” 

Richie doesn’t jerk or startle or react hugely. She simply lifts her eyes from somewhere around Eddie’s ankle to focus on her face, on her pink pink cheeks and her wide eyes. Eddie gets the feeling Richie’s controlling herself, restraining herself, preventing herself from doing something. She shivers and pretends that thinking about Richie losing control isn’t enough to make her cunt damp and the tips of her fingers numb. 

“Of course you are,” Richie says, her voice dark and smooth, like chocolate ganache and cigarette smoke. There’s an edge to her voice, something mean and hot and dark. “Pretty little thing like you, all wrapped up in your thongs and your lacy bralettes.” 

Something in Eddie melts, goes soft and wet like her pussy and she squirms on the couch. She can’t tell if Richie is joking—teasing her platonically, pushing her buttons—or if she really thinks that about Eddie, thinks that she’s a pretty little thing. _Just_ a pretty little thing and God that makes Eddie _want_ , she _wants_ to be a pretty little thing, especially for Richie and her mouth and her fingers. 

_What’s got your thong in a knot, Eds?_

It comes to her suddenly, and instead of the desperate, kittenish whine that wants to drip from her mouth, she asks, “How’d you know I was wearing a thong?" And then immediately thinks that she’s done it, and she’s bracing herself for the over-the-top we're-homo-but-no-homo comment she’s sure will come from the taller girl. 

Richie just looks at her, a little bemused—and fuck if that doesn’t make Eddie squirm, the thought of Richie being bemused by her, like the way people watch kittens fumble about—before she stands. She pulls on the hem of her flannel and sets her cup on their wooden coffee table, covered with Bill's paint and Stan's doodles. She takes another step forward so she can stands directly in front of Eddie, who sits with her feet tucked up beneath her on their beaten-up couch. Eddie thumb is sliding back and forth over her own ankle, staring up at Richie, feeling trapped between her jawline and her dark eyes and the white band of the Calvin Klein boy shorts under her grey sweatpants. 

"Eds," Richie says, and Eddie's thumb stops moving and her gaze fixes on Richie's eyes, completely still. They stare at each other. Eddie watches as Richie's gaze drags from her eyes to her mouth to the stretched neckline of the too-big t-shirt (Richie's, actually, so old the design has faded and the cotton has gone soft) she’s wearing, so big it slips over her collarbone. She isn’t wearing a bra and she suddenly becomes aware of the tightness of her nipples, feeling the skin around them contract as they grow hard and sensitive, even against the softness of her shirt. Embarrassed, she ducks her head, breaking her gaze, but not the ever-growing tension in the room. Even with her eyes fixed on her lap, she can see Richie's hand as it reaches out and—

Fingers catch the sides of Eddie's chin and she gasps as they tilt her head up and Richie's thumb slides onto the warmth of her tongue, holding her mouth open and her gaze on Richie. 

"I saw you getting dressed this morning," Richie says, quiet, but the edges of her mouth are pulled up into a smirking grin, just this side of demeaning. "You thought I was in the kitchen making coffee, but I saw you." She presses down on Eddie's tongue and her mouth falls open even more, obedient under Richie's hands. "I saw you slide you stand naked in front of your dresser and choose your underwear and bra. I watched you pick that slutty little lace thing you have, the one that barely holds your pretty tits in." Richie cocks her head to the side and lifts Eddie’s chin until she’s staring straight up at the ceiling. A tiny, confused sound falls from Eddie’s mouth. Richie hums. “You’re not wearing it anymore, are you?” 

Eddie whimpers, realizing that Richie has lifted her chin so that she has a clearer view of Eddie’s breasts under her shirt ( _Richie’s shirt_ , she’s wearing Richie’s shirt), her hard nipples, and her collarbones. She doesn’t move. She just lets Richie hold her chin and stare at her tits and fuck her pussy is so wet it aches. _She’s just a pretty little thing._

Her head is still titled back and she’s staring at the ceiling, but she hears the rustle of fabric as Richie reaches one hand out. For a second, there’s complete stillness. And then Richie’s hand moves along the curve of her breast, cupping it in her palm and rubbing her thumb across the hard nipple. Eddie moans and squirms, grinding into the seam of her sleep shorts. 

“Aww, baby.” Richie murmurs, and pulls her chin back down, nudging her until Eddie meets her eyes. Richie swallows when she sees the look on Eddie’s face, cheeks flushed and her eyes dark, her mouth already pink and wet. “You’re not wearing a bra, are you?”

“N-No,” Eddie says and it comes like a whimper, a plea. She arches her back a little, just enough to press her breast more firmly into Richie’s hand. “Please, Richie.” 

Richie just looks at her for a second, and Eddie whines quietly, arching her back just a little more. “Please.”

The room goes still again. Not quiet, because Eddie’s breaths come high and heavy from her throat, her breast still cupped in one of Richie’s big hands, her chin still held firmly with a grip that only gets harder. 

“Eddie,” Richie says quietly and she sounds like Richie, like her best friend.

Eddie looks at her and knows exactly what she wants to know, and what she needs Eddie to say. 

“Please, Richie,” Eddie says. “I trust you.” She swallows, feeling her cheeks get even redder. “Please, I want you to fuck me.” Richie stares at her. “Richie, please, please, I need you to wreck me, please, Richie—”

Her big hand lets go of Eddie’s chin and slides along her face to grip her hair, wrenching her head back. Her other hand lets go of Eddie’s breast to slap her cheek, hard enough to make her gasp, but not hard enough to leave a mark, before gripping her breast again, her thumb and first finger pulling hard at her nipple. 

“That’s not what my pretty little girl should call me, is it, princess?”

Eddie whines. _My pretty little girl_ , she thinks, and her brain goes fuzzy, her eyes practically crossing. She can’t think, but she knows there’s spit gathering at her bottom lip, dangerously close to drooling. 

Still holding her nipple, Richie pinches harder and tightens her grip in her hair until Eddie blinks and looks at her. 

“I _said_ , that’s not what you call me, is it, princess?”

Eddie whimpers. She shakes her head. 

Richie smiles, and her smile is dark and blood-smeared, demeaning and cruel. Eddie’s cunt is so wet she might be leaking through her sleep shorts where she’s humping her hips forward against the seam, desperate for friction against her aching clit. But she’s even more desperate for something to be stuffed in her cunt, like Richie’s tongue or her fingers or maybe that dildo she has, the one that attaches to the harness that she’d shown off to Eddie as a joke once that had occupied Eddie’s fantasies for weeks afterwards. She can get something—something of _Richie’s_ —in her if she’s a good girl. _Be a good girl._

“You’re such a good whore, baby,” Richie says, whisper-soft, rolling her oversensitive nipple between her fingers, still holding her too-hard, listening to Eddie’s whimpering breath. Her big brown eyes are fixed on Richie, devotional, almost reverent. “You’re gonna be such a good girl for mommy, aren’t you?” 

Eddie whines, loud. 

Fuck. 


	2. part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i knew this was gonna be horny but like  
> damn

Fuck. 

Richie can’t believe that this is how her Wednesday night is turning out. 

Even before all this she knew that Eddie isn’t straight—it’s obvious, even if she can’t seem to admit it to herself—but seeing her foul-mouthed-and-yet-prim-and-proper best friend become a slutty, desperate, dripping sex kitten just from a bit of rough groping is kind of blowing her mind. 

Obviously Eddie’s a bottom. Anyone with a half decent gaydar knew that a person who’d grown up manipulated and controlled would develop some significant mommy issues that led to her wanting to be dominated by a sincerely loving partner. 

Maybe not  everyone  would know that, but they’d definitely pick up on the bottom thing. 

Richie had been turned on the moment she’d come into their apartment and smelled the fresh cilantro and sharp garlic permeating the hallway outside their door, because Eddie cooking was an arousing, sacrilegious experience. She’d braced herself as she opened the door, welcomed into the warm rush of the house, of the smell of Eddie cooking Mexican, Avril Lavigne turned up so loud she could barely think, and, most importantly, Eddie in her little shorts and t-shirt, her favourite at-home outfit. The shorts are bright red, the same athletic shorts she’d worn throughout junior high and high school. They’d gone from distracting in middle school to athletic-chic in freshman and sophomore year to full-on slutty from junior year of high school all the way up till now. They cling to the generous curves of her hips, ass, and thighs, but ride high on her tiny waist, cinched tight. She was wearing Richie’s old shirt, too, the one that was so stretched it slipped off her shoulder and showed off so many inches of tanned skin that Richie wanted to sink her teeth into until Eddie screamed. 

So. 

Eddie cooking was one of the hottest things Richie had the good fortune of witnessing—and it was both a blessing and a curse that Eddie did all of the cooking. 

Eddie cooking  Mexican  was especially attractive, though that was really just because Richie loved tacos and would kill a man for handmade tortillas and spicy marinated chicken. 

Dinner had been painful, too, the two of them in their living room watching  _ Wanted _ , obsessing over Angelina Jolie’s cheekbones and Richie’s obsessive desire to raw young James McAvoy, even though she was a lesbian (him and Leo were at the top of her I-would-go-straight-for-the-opportunity-to-top-the-fuck-out-of-him list). Eddie had sat curled up, her feet tucked up beneath her, her hair down, fluffy and wavy and thick, rich brown. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and, God, Richie wanted to suck and bite at her tits until she came, her cheeks flushed, crying, completely fucked out and begging for more. 

She can’t believe it when Eddie tells her she’s a bottom, when her nipples go hard under her shirt and she starts to shift her (thick, gorgeous, tanned) thighs around, pressing them together. She wants to pounce forward, rip Eddie’s shirt from her body and pull her tiny shorts until they’re just below her ass so she can beat her red, fuck her pussy rough with her fingers until she whines and cries and begs and cums for Richie. 

“Of course you are,” She says instead, and she means to leave it at that but then— “Pretty little thing like you, all wrapped up in your thongs and your lacy bralettes.” 

Eddie goes scarlet, her cheeks and the tops of her ears flushing, looking pretty and strung out. 

“How’d you know I’m wearing a thong?” Eddie asks, voice breathy and tight, contained, like she’s afraid of what will spill out of her mouth if she lets herself go as stupid and cockdrunk as she wants to. Richie can barely hold down a chuckle, knowing just how wet Eddie’s pretty pussy must be, how hard she’s fighting against her desire. 

And God. She’d seen Eddie that morning, in her room with here door only half closed, as she threw her towel on the bed and stood in front of her dresser, completely naked, all golden skin and strong legs and stretch marks over her hips, ass, and thighs. She wanted to lick those marks. She wanted to cum on them. Richie meant to walk away, she really did, but then Eddie opened the half drawer on the left and pulled out a purple lace thong, and bent over as she slipped them on. She could see her pretty cunt, pink and soft-looking—it would look so good red and swollen, edged and spanked, just a little—, before Eddie had pulled the thong up over the curve of her ass and snapped the bands as they landed high on her body, nearly at here waist. Her ass looked incredible framed by the panties and Richie was transfixed, feeling feral and desperate for a taste, half-drooling with the desire to consume every part of her. 

Eddie reached into the half drawer on the right, pulled out a cupped bra, and then a white sports bra, before pulling out a lacy one—pink this time—a bralette that could just barely hold the generous curve of her breasts. 

The coffee maker beeped in the kitchen and Richie wrenched herself away, flushed with arousal and a little bit of guilt. 

She can’t believe it when she stands and holds Eddie’s chin in one hand, when she tips Eddie’s head up towards the ceiling to stare at her pretty tits, listening to the desperate whimpers and whines that drop out of Eddie’s mouth like drool. Her breast is soft and heavy in her hand, and she almost gives in to every dark, violent instinct she has when Eddie arches her back to press her breast harder into Richie’s hand, surrendering, begging. 

“You’re such a good whore, baby,” Richie says, rolling her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, thinking about clamping her nipples and watching Eddie bounce between pain and pleasure. Her eyes are huge and watery, so focused on Richie. “You’re gonna be such a good girl for mommy, aren’t you?”

When Eddie whines Richie can’t resist. She pulls her forward by her hair and fucks her tongue into her mouth, licking across the roof of her mouth and over her teeth, to her molars. Eddie gasps and makes these pretty half-sounds as Richie fucks her mouth, pliant and obedient to be pulled and twisted and used however Richie wants, sucking on Richie’s tongue.

Eddie's swept up by the sudden urge to have something bigger her mouth, something that will make her choke and sob. 

When Richie pulls away, Eddie follows her. A string of spit connects their mouths and Richie grins again. She owns Eddie, and she knows it. 

She releases Eddie’s hair and her breast without warning, stepping back. Ignoring Eddie’s whine, she peels her flannel off her shoulders, leaving her in her White Stripes wife-beater and her grey sweatpants. Eddie watches, almost panting. 

“Take off your shirt.” 

A breath of silence, and then Eddie stands, ducking her head as she crosses her arms and pulls the shirt over her head. Her nipples pebble, hard, one red and swollen from where Richie gripped and pulled at it; Richie wants to mark Eddie’s entire body just like that. She stands, still breathing hard, still pink-cheeked as Richie looks at her, staring at her tits. They hang just slightly under their own weight, ribbed with stretch marks, a stunning curve. 

Richie hums. “Gorgeous tits, kitten.” 

Eddie bites rough into her bottom lip, closes her eyes for a brief second. Richie gives her four, five, six extra seconds before she says, “What do you say when someone gives you a compliment?” 

She blushes. “Thank you?” 

Richie shakes her head, sighs. “Wrong answer, doll." Richie grabs her forearm and pulls her into her side. 

“Mommy?” Eddie says, staring up at Richie, breath caught. 

With the hand not gripping her arm, Richie reaches down and grabs her pussy, grinding her fingers roughly, pressing up against her clit and her wet, open cunt. Eddie gasps, and then cries out when Richie lifts until Eddie’s standing on her tiptoes, gripping at Richie’s arms for stability. She seems shocked into silence, wide eyes and near tears, cheeks still so so pink. It’s spreading down her neck and collarbones, framing her breasts where they’re pressed up against Richie. 

“I was going to wait to play with you, string you out until you were begging me to let you cum,” Richie says, and Eddie shivers as her breath fans across her face, looking up (still looking up, even straining on her tiptoes) at Richie, staring dumbly at her mouth as she speaks, her voice low and raw. “I’m still going to do that sometime, but for now…”

She curls her fingers, presses up harder, practically fucking Eddie’s sopping cunt through her thin shorts. Eddie gasps and humps forward once before stopping, quiet and embarrassed. “Exactly, babydoll,” Richie murmurs, leaning close to Eddie’s ear. “You’re gonna hump against my fingers like the desperate slut you are and I’m going to let you cum. And then you’re never cumming again until I give you permission—do you understand?” 

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Eddie whines, then cries when Richie bites hard at the top of her ear, her earlobe, before latching on hard to her neck, biting, almost chewing into her. It’s a warning Eddie recognizes instantly. “I’m sorry, mommy, please please let me cum, I understand your rules, I won’t cum without your permission, please.” 

Richie lets go of her neck and shivers at the purpling mark on the tan skin, feeling tight in her own skin, ready to tear Eddie apart and make her beg to do it again. “Good girl, begging mommy to let you cum.” 

“Yes,  yes —” Eddie’s voice jumps as she moans and grinds against Richie’s hand, twisting her hips down like she’s riding a dick, humping her hips forward against the pressure on her clit. “Yes, mommy, thank you.” 

Richie grins, breath heavy as she watches Eddie’s stomach roll and her thighs flex, her socked feet slipping a little on the hardwood floors. Her tits bounce every time she grinds down, and Richie wants to hold her nipple between her teeth while she does, listen to her whimper through the pain as her cunt just gets wetter. “Don’t thank me yet, babydoll.” She grabs Eddie’s hair, pulls her head back until she looks up at Richie, panting and desperate, her eyes practically glazed over. “I’ll give you as much time as I feel like to let you cum. I don’t care whether or not you do—I just like to use you, baby, and toys don’t need to cum. This is a treat."

Eddie humps forward so hard Richie almost loses her grip on her, so rough that her tits bounce hard and Richie gets distracted by them, caught on that swollen, red nipple that could be even more swollen. “God, Richie—mommy, I’m just a toy, fuck.” 

“That’s right, very good. Just smart enough to know who you belong to, hmm? Too fucking stupid to be anything other than a pretty little kitten for me, but smart enough to know that this tight, wet little cunt—” She flexes her fingers again. “—And these bouncy, doll tits—” Richie let go of Eddie’s hair to slap her breast, groaning a little as it bounces and Eddie whimpers and humps harder against Richie’s hand, desperate. “—Belong to me, because I’ll fuck you and take care of you better than you or anyone else ever could." 

Eddie  moans , loud and uninhibited and started grinding harder, faster. “Yes, mommy, yes, you’re right, I belong to you, I’m yours, please let me cum, please please please, fuck,  please .” She’s almost screaming, whining, throwing her head back and looking every bit the stupid slut Richie knows she wants to be, yelping when Richie slaps her tits again, just to watch them bounce and her baby squirm, sobbing. 

“Kitten,” Richie says, voice strong and clear. 

Eddie stops, panting, staring up at Richie, trembling. Her fingers flex against Richie’s biceps. “Yes, mommy?” 

Richie smiles. She grabs one of her tits in her hand, her hands big enough to hold the whole thing and squeeze, endlessly pleased when Eddie whimpers and bites her lip, but doesn’t move, just shaking in Richie’s grip, her wet cunt soaking through her shorts onto Richie’s sore fingers. She squeezes harder, lets her short nails dig into the tender flesh. Eddie’s eyes roll back, but she still doesn’t move, even as she her whimpers get more desperate. Richie’s cunt throbs between her legs, so turned on she can’t focus on anything but ruining Eddie. 

Her arm is starting to shake, supporting basically all of the other girl’s weight. She crooks her fingers.

Eddie moans, sobbing as she clings harder to Richie as she spins them around and pulls her—still holding her cunt hard with one hand—back towards the couch, jostling and arranging her until she collapses in Richie’s lap. 

“Did I say you could sit?” Richie says, harsh, even though she pulled her down into her lap. She loves how fucking confused Eddie looks, blinking hard to focus. God, she looks stupid and fucked out and she hasn’t even cum yet. 

“You didn’t cum against my hand, doll,” she says, “Stand up and strip.” 

Trembling, Eddie lifts herself out of Richie’s lap to stand in front of her. She grabs the hem of her shorts and start to pull them down, careless, but Richie reaches out and grabs her chin hard, just like she did when their positions were flipped and it was Eddie on the couch. 

“Now, now, kitten, give me a show. Let me see my pretty toy.” 

Eddie doesn’t move, and Richie thinks that she’s pushed her too hard, too far. She almost stops, pulls her into her lap to kiss her forehead, but Eddie whines in the back of her throat. 

“Will you put a song on for me, mommy?” 

Richie moans, stunned at the thought.

Eddie smirks, looking smug, and Richie slaps her cheek, harder than before. “That’s a good idea, bunny, but don’t give me attitude.” Richie eyes her, from her huge brown eyes to her big tits and tiny waist and wide thighs. It’s hot to think about, Eddie swaying and shaking her ass for her, desperate and slutty, acting like a stripper bitch just because Richie ordered her to, but she can’t wait that long. She’s wanted that sweet cunt for too many years and she’s already played with Eddie enough. She wants to see her go dickdrunk and stupid. 

Well. Even more dickdrunk and stupid than she already was, begging and whining like a good kitten should.

“As much as I’d love to see you dance for me, slut, I know how wet your cunt is and you might not be cumming for a long time after today, so I think I’ll let you cum.” 

Eddie looks torn between disappointment at not being able to dance for her, excitement about finally getting cum, and apprehension at the thought of her orgasms belonging to Richie. Richie can't resist a chuckle as Eddie chews on her lower lip. She'll love that her orgasms belong to Richie when they get there, that her cunt is always wet and she's always on the edge of cumming. She'll be a grateful bitch every time Richie allows her to orgasm.

“Bunny,” Richie says, slow and mocking, “Strip.”

Eddie nods slowly and starts to pull away, her chin still caught in Richie’s grip, but Richie slaps her cheek twice more, until she goes pliant and open.

Eddie grabs the waistband of her shorts, staring at Richie even as the other girl’s eyes stay fixed to her soft stomach and the curve of her hips, the rumpled front of her usually well-cared for shorts. She has a moment of self-consciouness, worried about what Richie will think of her body, of her stretch marks and the pouch of her stomach, but then she thinks of the desperate, slutty way she begged Richie ( _ mommy _ , she begged mommy) to let her cum, as if she was just a bitch that couldn’t make her own decisions. She flushes and pulls her shorts down, knowing that Richie is into her and doesn’t care about her stomach. She turns to show off her ass as she pulls them down until they sit just beneath her asscheeks, making her plush ass looks even fuller. 

Richie leans forwards to slap Eddie’s peachy ass. Eddie moans and Richie stares at the  ripple  of Eddie’s ass as it jiggles. 

“Bend over and take your shorts off,” Richie says, “I’m gonna keep playing with this fucking stripper ass of yours while you do.” 

“Yes, mommy,” Eddie whimpers. She bends over, pulling her shorts down her thighs.

Eddie pushes her ass back towards Richie’s face, her voice going high and whiny when Richie slaps her ass and grabs it, drags her fingernails over it, both hands gripping and kneading the flesh and God it’s making her pussy drip down her thigh. 

Eddie pushes her shorts down to her ankles, feels them pull away from her cunt where she’s so wet they’ve stuck together.

“Mommy, please, please touch my cunt.” 

“Hmm,” Richie says, “Stay there, slut. I’ll decide when I touch your pretty little pussy.” She leans back against the couch, admiring the mostly-naked, trembling Eddie Kaspbrak in front of her, bent over at the waist, fat ass, thighs, and cunt all on display for her. Her pussy has soaked through her thong, practically sucked the thin material into her. 

“Alright, kitten,” Richie says when Eddie whines, “You can stand up.”

Eddie straightens slowly and turns back to Richie. She runs a hand through her hair and then down, drawing her hands from her hair down to her breasts, squeezing and rolling her nipples between her fingers. 

“Such a pretty little thing.” Richie laughs, cruel and sharp even as Eddie whines for her, practically squirming on the spot. “God, look at you. Standing in the middle of our living room, wearing nothing but a wet thong, your ass and tits bright red, so fucked out you can barely think.” Richie watches Eddie’s thighs tense, chewing hard into her lower lip, whimpering quietly. “You’re just so fucking desperate to be used and fucked that you’ll do whatever I want.” 

Eddie nods enthusiastically. “I will, I will, I’d do whatever you want, mommy, please  please— ” 

“Shut up, slut.” Eddie let out a sound like a sob, but went quiet, staring at Richie. “Come sit in my lap.”

She gingerly kneels over Richie’s lap, before Richie grabs her hips and pulls her down, pulling her full weight onto her thighs, her wet cunt pressing up against—

“Fuck,  fuck , Richie,” Eddie moans, wrapping her arms around her neck, grinding down hard.

Richie grins. “Didn’t know I’ve got a massive cock, Eds?” Reaching around Eddie, she grips and kneads at her plush, bouncing ass, pulling her in hard against Richie’s lap, against the dildo she’s packing. 

Eddie starts to make a noise like she’s going to argue with Richie about the size of her cock, but Richie slaps her face and then her tits in quick succession, grabbing her nipple and pinching hard, pulling it away from her body. Eddie whines, but doesn’t resist the pain, just humps forward more, voice hitching when her thong presses right up against her swollen clit. 

“Be a good kitten and pull it out of my pants, baby.” 

Eddie whimpers as she leans forward and Richie tugs harder at her nipple, but gets her small fingers into Richie’s waistband—there’s a wet spot right against the bulge and she tries not to think about her cunt being so wet that she’s practically leaking onto Richie—and pulls down, pulling her cock out. 

“Jesus, Rich,” Eddie says, half-way to her normal self, but still breathy and whining. 

It’s a big cock, eight or nine inches and thick enough that Eddie can barely wrap her hand around it. She wants it in her dripping cunt and her mouth and God, some day she wants it in her ass—she wants Richie to use her and fuck all of her holes. 

She doesn't realize she's whining, her thoughts coming out in half-realized whimpers until Richie grabs her thong and pulls up, hard, digging it deep into her cunt and clit, ignoring Eddie's cry and scrambling hand against her forearm. 

"I will fuck all of your slutty holes, kitten." She releases her thong and reaches between her legs to peel the crotch of her panties to one side, impressed and so fucking turned on that they're literally soaked, slick with the wetness of her aching pussy. "Starting with your fat cunt."

Richie pulls her forward until she hovering over her cock, all of Eddie's weight on one knee to gain the height to press the head of her cock to her tight little hole. Richie leans forward and presses a quick kiss to her chin. "Ready, baby?" 

Instead of the softness Richie expected, Eddie's face goes stormy. "Richie Tozier if you don't put your perfect fucking cock in me right now, so help me God—"

Richie laughs. "Shut the fuck up and let me fuck you, you impatient little slut." 

She opens her mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a long, desperate moan as Richie pushes her cock into her, pulling on her hips gently, easing her onto the girth of her cock. She sinks down slowly, her pussy wet and open. 

"God, your slick cunt is basically pulling my cock in," Richie says, and lets out a little groan as Eddie settles her weight onto her dick, the other end slipping against Richie's clit. 

Eddie doesn't move, split open and trembling on Richie's dick, feeling like she's already gaping open, like her body will never be the same. 

"Please," she gasps. "Please,  please ." 

Richie grabs her ass in both hands, smacking her hands into the cheeks and squeezing hard, pulling Eddie further down onto her cock, grinding up into her in the same movement. 

Eddie yelps. "Mommy!" She shouts.

"Ride my dick, slut, ride my fucking cock and let all of our neighbours hear what a good little fucktoy you are for me." 

And Eddie does, shaking and obedient, getting her knees under her and bouncing hard on the fake dick, whimpering and sobbing every time she slides up and down, every time the cock hits her cervix. Her clit throbs but she feels close after only a few eager bounces. She can feel her tits bouncing and her ass jiggling every time she moves and doesn't feel an ounce of shame when her only thought is that she hopes Richie enjoys the show. 

Beneath her, Richie is grunting, voice raspy and low. The dildo rubs against her clit each time Eddie bounces and she's getting close, but she wants Eddie to cum first. 

Instead of reaching for her swollen clit, Richie grips her waist, her big hands spanning up her ribs and across her stomach and back, and bites Eddie's abused nipple, sucking and worrying at it with her teeth. 

"Fuck!" Eddie bounces harder, the pain and pleasure of her nipple caught in Richie's mouth and the sheer control the other girl has over her has her shaking, so so close she can feel it building in her cunt. 

Richie drops her nipple from her mouth and quickly grabs both breasts with her hands, kneading and groping them. "Cmon, kitten," she pants, "Cum all over mommy's big dick."

Eddie bounces once, twice more and then she's screaming, head thrown back as her stomach and thighs tremble, her hips still thrusting and grinding onto the big cock keeping her pussy stretching out and open. She's still shaking, grinding forward sporadically a full minute later, drooling onto Richie's shirt, her nipples and breasts tender and swollen in Richie's big hands. 

Richie kisses her, pulls her mouth open and licks at every part of her, fucking her tongue into her mouth as she hips move slightly, the slightest little grind up into Eddie's pussy. "Good job, slut," she says. "Was it good, baby?"

Eddie nods, tears on her cheeks. "It- It was so good, mommy, thank you." 

"You're welcome," Richie says, endlessly smug. "I'm glad you liked it, because you won't cum again until I allow it." 

Eddie whines, weak and slutty against her neck. 

Richie lets her sit there for a few moments, loving her warm weight and her breasts pressed against her chest. She loves that Eddie is naked except for her thong but Richie is still fully clothed, only her cock pulled out of her grey sweatpants. She thinks about keeping Eddie like this, only allowed to dress in lingerie and nothing else in the house, always ready for Richie's fat cock. 

Richie slaps her ass hard and Eddie jerks, whimpers as her sore cunt clenches around the unrelenting cock stuffed deep inside her. "Cmon, baby, I haven't cum yet. Bounce." 

For a split second, Eddie wants to protest. Her neck is bruised and her ass and tits are red and tender where Richie has slapped and groped them, her cunt is sensitive and sore, and her nipples feel red hot and aching. But she realizes that it isn't her decision to make and Richie didn't ask—she ordered her kitten, her bitch, her fucktoy, her  _ pretty little thing _ to bounce on her cock and make her cum. 

Eddie gets her knees under her, shifting on the cock. She whimpers. She starts to bounce. 

Richie chuckles, low and cruel in her ear. "You're going to spend the rest of your life like this—sore, wet, and gaping on my cock." 

Eddie whines. 

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple details i couldn't finagle in!  
> \- eddie is a year below richie (because she was held back in elementary because of her mom who insisted she was too delicate to go through), also she's an aries (on the subject of horoscopes richie is a libra)  
> \- eddie is a mechanic because women can work in 'masculine' jobs and be highly feminine AND get dom topped until they can't think  
> \- her first job was at a mexican restaurant and the abuela who was in charge of the cooking taught her! it's why eddie's tacos are so good and the abuela was her first real mother figure

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing is really just me being incredibly horny - gotta love quarantine, right? 
> 
> reblog the [tumblr post](https://eddiepeach.tumblr.com/post/633785654339403776/she-wore-a-lace-bra-to-a-knife-fight-and-i-cut-it) (and come chat with me!)


End file.
